Threads of Fate
by 2phive8
Summary: Be careful what you wish for...you never know who might be listening.
1. Chapter 1

Threads of Fate

AN: And so it begins…the multi-chapter thing (I came scarily close to calling it that too, LOL). I suppose this would qualify as an AU, since I've screwed around with absolutely everything… Quick shout-out to Cohen's Chicas for pointing out my _Nightmare Before Christmas _reference!

Disclaimer: I don't own Coraline: talk to Neil Gaiman/Laika Studios.

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The soft, tremulous glow of a new dawn crept across the Earth's face, warming its soil-skin and breathing life into its body, like the kiss of a fairy-tale prince bestowed upon his sleeping princess. The valley swelled with birdsong and the plants gleamed with morning dew, prepared to drink in as much sweet sunlight as they could before the clouds inevitably rolled in, heavy with rain.

Yet even as the sun rose in the Oregon sky, it was setting on the life of Dorothea Lovat.

Coughing weakly, she held up a gnarled hand to block the glare spearing through the dusty curtains--yet she could still feel her skin burning, as though her palm were little more than tissue paper.

Working her parched throat, she called out hoarsely: "W-Wybourne…!"

A loud 'thump!' sounded overhead; she listened as he dashed down the stairs to answer her. '_Such a good boy…_'

He rapped his knuckles on the door gently. "Grandma?"

Propping herself up with a few pillows, Dorothea sighed wearily. "Come in, Wybourne."

A quiet creak, and then his nervous face appeared, peeking in shyly before entering. "Is everything okay, Grandma? Do you need anything?"

"Just my water and pills, boy, and then you had better be getting to your chores."

As he went to retrieve the medications keeping her alive, the elderly woman looked out the window and squinted into the distance, in the direction of the Pink Palace. The apartment complex had once been her childhood home, and the home of many others before her; her past, present, and what remained of her future was inescapably linked to the seemingly innocuous structure. While it no longer could claim to be pink, and had never deserved the title of 'palace,' the building had a history far beyond what most people suspected, a magic all its own…

How she hated it.

'_That house is a monstrosity' _Dorothea shivered, flesh crawling. '_But I don't know what might happen if it were ever torn down, what might escape…_' She wore her eighty-two years as though they were a hundred and two, a lifetime of unwanted responsibility and fear wearing her down far faster than nature had ever intended. A lifetime of bad memories…

A low, rumbling purr drew her attention to the bookcase, where a spindly black cat rested among the musty literature and bric-a-brac. "Ah, old friend. I've seen better days, but you look just the same…how unfair."

Cat said nothing, but his blue eyes seemed sad.

Wybie appeared in the doorway, unaware of the exchange. "Here you go, Grandma. Be sure to take them slowly, like the doctor said."

As she accepted the glass and tablets offered, Dorothea stared into the boy's face, so familiar yet somehow foreign, and knew that she was dying. Her heart seized with apprehension, but it wasn't mortality she dreaded.

'_What will happen to him…?_'

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The clock face read 3:08; only two minutes remained until the end of another nine-hour day at Ashland Regional Middle School.

To Coraline Jones, it felt more like an eternity.

Tapping her foot, she fiddled with the cuff of her dull gray blouse and shot a glance at her wristwatch, hoping for better news--3:08pm, it reported mercilessly.

Picking at her chipped teal nail polish, Coraline glared at the minute hand and willed it to go faster. She felt anxious, as though any moment she might jump clean out of her skin; a strange feeling of foreboding had been plaguing her for the past few weeks, and was only growing more intense with each second that ground by with agonizing slowness. Her mind raced ahead even as her body remained stationary, speeding back to the Pink Palace, and even further, into the past--

_A painfully long drive, her father singing every song that came on the radio off-key while her mother grouched about this and that. _

_Boredom so profound she nearly cried, nowhere to go and nothing to do. _

_A parlor that contained nothing but a fireplace…and a strange door, covered over with wallpaper. _

_Meeting the neighbor-boy and his cat, exchanging their first pleasantries--but not the last warnings. "Don't go near that little door…" _

Coraline, nine years old at the time, had scoffed at first; such melodrama over a hole in the wall, and one that led to nothing at that. But Wybie had insisted, and since his grandmother owned the place, she had diverted her ravenous curiosity to other mysteries. Now approaching her thirteenth birthday, the little door had re-entered her thoughts--

Mainly because she suspected there was something behind it after all.

Finally, the bell rang, unleashing a wave of pre-teenagers eager to get out of the dungeon-like institution. Standing up quickly, Coraline made a beeline for the parking lot, where Wybie and his motorbike would be waiting. '_Lucky jerk gets to be home schooled…although maybe not, with that grandmother of his._' The Lovat matriarch made no secret of the fact that she did not approve of their friendship, but there was no keeping them apart: '_Besides, he's too much fun to tease, the big dork…_'

Outside, the weather was of the typical, overcast variety. Scanning the area, Coraline sighted Wybie parked near a telephone pole, slouched over and fussing with the rusty crank on his skeleton-mask. She took stock of the boy who had been her best friend for nearly four years: wild, unruly curls that defied gravity (and cleanliness), neck and spine bent in every direction but straight, intelligent green eyes and warm brown skin…

'_Err, whoa._'

Thoughts going in a strange direction, Coraline went the opposite way and turned critical: nobody could annoy her quite like Wybie could, he always knew something about everything, '_and he's…short,_' she huffed, bad mood making her petty. It interested her that Wybie had yet to hit his growth spurt when all the other boys their age were sprouting like weeds, but being a late-bloomer was certainly not his fault. Neither was this funk she had fallen into…

As she made her way over to him, the uneasy butterflies in her stomach solidified into a lump of nervous energy and settled, nausea dogging her the whole way home.

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Wybie, sensing Coraline's tension, had proposed a trip into the woods after school the next day; exploring had never failed to cheer her before.

She agreed to go, but with less enthusiasm than he'd been expecting.

The distinct lack of arm-punching lately had him concerned; when he tried to dig out the cause, toeing the line between indirect questioning and a joke about female puberty, he got nothing but a flat glare. '_Something is definitely wrong._'

Dropping her off, Wybie found himself lingering by the front steps long after Coraline had gone inside.

He knew his Grandma despised the Pink Palace, and he had never seen the interior himself; after all, he was strictly forbidden from entering. Something about a family tragedy…

Still, for whatever reason, just the sight of the house triggered odd moments of déjà vu, '_as though I've seen it all before, but different somehow…_'

Reclining on the bike's front seat, Wybie craned his head back and gazed up at windows that guarded Coraline's bedroom. The blue-haired girl would often lean out over the sill, shouting down to him; had done so since she'd moved in, years before. Even then he had thought she was the prettiest, funniest, smartest girl he'd ever known, or would ever know--'_but there's no telling her that, not with me being such a coward and her with that nasty right hook,_' he grumbled inwardly. She reminded him of a time when--

A sharp twinge interrupted his reverie. "Ouch! These weird headaches…must be my allergies kicking in." Rubbing his forehead and mumbling something about 'sinus pressure,' he stole one last glance at where he knew the girl he loved was hidden, before riding home to tend to his grandmother.

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Dorothea was in a state of near-panic when she finally heard the front door open, a shouted greeting drifting back to her through the house. Sitting up straight in her bed, the scolding began as soon as Wybie walked into her room.

"Wybourne, I know for a fact that it only takes you fifteen minutes to get from the school to here. Where have you been? I was worried out of my mind!"

Flushing, he avoided her eyes. "Nowhere, Grandma, just dropping Jonesy at the apartments."

"What have I told you about that place? You didn't **dare** go in, did you?"

His jaw clenched. "_No_, Grandma, I didn't. I'm not a baby…"

Dorothea's voice grew louder in volume, even as her lungs strained threateningly. "Don't you sass me, boy--!"

A sudden fit of wheezing wracked her frail body. Wybie ran to her bedside, startled. "Grandma?! What should I do?" The awful throbbing started up in his head again, pounding in time with the old woman's rattling coughs.

Waving him away, Dorothea slowly calmed, exhausted. Wybie's look of pain, fingers pressed hard to his temples, had her anxiety spiking again. "What's the matter with you, Wybourne?"

"Just a headache, I'm fine…I'm going to call the doctor, okay? Be right back."

Unseen, Dorothea clenched her blankets so tightly her bony knuckles turned white, eyes wide with terror.

'_It's already begun._'

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AN: What's begun? You'll just have to wait and see…

…although my friends call me the 'Spoiler Queen,' and I'm just dying to get to the punch line, so let's see how long I can hold out XD

--The decision to name Grandma Lovat was one made out of necessity for this fic…I don't like non-canon names but as far as I'm aware she has no other title than 'Grandma.' I thought Dorothea was a nice fit…it's pronounced 'Dorothy-ah,' by the by. (If there IS an official name for her, somebody please let me know & I'll gladly use it :P ).

When writing, I always feel the beginning is the hardest part--I wanted to get this intro down & out into the world so I can start fleshing out the rest of the story. Most chapters will probably be about this length, if not a little longer.

Thanks for reading and see you again soon!

---258.


	2. Chapter 2

Threads of Fate: Chapter 2

AN: How exciting, the first time I've posted more than one chapter to anything! This is officially a multi-chapter fic now XD

Disclaimer: I don't own Coraline: talk to Neil Gaiman/Laika Studios.

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_Dorothea circled the kitchen table, humming softly to herself as she set the stage for supper. Her neatly braided hair, secured with no-nonsense rubber bands, swung to and fro as she worked; her impeccably ironed dress skimmed her knobby knees, and her polished black shoes clicked quietly on the floorboards as she made her way to each place setting. Every piece of flatware was aligned perfectly straight with its neighbors, every napkin crisply folded, every plate laid down gently in the precise center of the arrangement. Nearby was her mother, preparing their meal, the delicious scent of pot-roast filling the air. 'Mamma is the world's best cook, for certain,' she thought to herself, adoring. 'Someday I want to be just like her, with my own husband and children, living in a big house. Mamma's so lucky too--her house is __pink!__ And soon Papa will come home, and we'll be a whole family again...' _

_At the ripe old age of thirteen, the elder Lovat daughter sought to be every inch the ideal young woman, considered herself in training to be an exemplary wife and mother. 'After all, this is 1940. A girl needs to be prepared for the future.' _

_The sudden 'bang!' of the screen door jolted her from her thoughts. Scowling, Dorothea planted her hands on her hips and turned to regard her twin sister, Abigail, the very picture of a ragamuffin after a day spent playing outdoors. 'She's made a mess of her clothing, again. And those ridiculous ribbons in her hair make her look like a maypole! Wasting time when she could be practicing her needlework, which is atrocious…or her spelling, which is worse.' _

_But to Dorothea's chagrin, Mamma never seemed to notice these things. Smiling down at her daughter, she laughed and patted her on the head. "Abby, sweetie, what have you got into now?" _

_The younger twin held out her hands, coated with soil. "Digging in the garden for snakes! I'm sure I saw one yesterday, and I'm going to find him!" _

_Dorothea shuddered. "What do you want with an awful, slimy thing like that? And your fingernails are packed with filth, just look. Ugh!" _

_Abigail stuck out her tongue, taunting. "Dory, you old stick-in-the-mud, you don't know. You have no idea what fun even is!" _

"_I do too! Just today I--" _

"_Finished knitting a sock? Re-read all your schoolbooks? How boring. Bor-y Dor-y!" she laughed, skipping around her older sister and scattering the grime caked on her shoes everywhere. _

_Mamma stepped in just as Dorothea looked ready to explode. "Enough! Abby, go on and tidy up, supper's near ready." _

_As soon as their mother's back was turned, Abigail made a face at her twin before dashing off for the washroom. Stamping her foot angrily, Dorothea whirled around to finish setting the table--the sun shining through the kitchen window was incredibly bright… _

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Again, Dorothea awoke to the harsh light of a new day scalding her tired eyes. "Damnable curtains, don't do a thing…" she grumbled. Thinking of the memory she'd re-lived in her dreams, the old woman cringed. '_Mamma, little sister, forgive me…_'

Each rasping breath she drew reminded her that she needed her morning dose of medicine. Gathering her strength, she shrilled as loud as she could: "_Wybourne!_"

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Wybie's eyes snapped open as his name rang out. Groaning, he rolled onto his back and sat up, unable to contain a jaw-popping yawn. Smacking his lips sleepily, he reached for a shirt and tugged it on--only to pluck it away from his chest when the material made him itchy. "Yikes! What kind of fabric softener is Grandma using these days?" Trading the top for another, he pulled it on over his head, and immediately flung it away when he felt the irritation flare up again.

Dumbfounded, Wybie ran a hand along his arm. His skin felt unusually rough, the texture unpleasant. "Great…dry skin."

Sliding back into the shirt, he tried to ignore the discomfort as he made his way downstairs.

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Coraline practically staggered out of the house that morning, barely conscious. The niggling feeling of wrongness that seemed to surround her like a thick, invisible fog had kept her wide awake and high-strung most of the night. Hearing Wybie's motorbike approaching, she pried her eyelids open just enough to see the steps and tried to descend. Not paying attention, she tripped over a badly-tied shoelace and began to fall, watching with mild interest as the ground rose up to meet her.

"Jonesy!" Wybie lunged forward in a heroic attempt to catch her: unfortunately, as he was hardly any bigger than Coraline himself, both tumbled to the ground with force.

The tingling bite of a fresh wound was enough to bring her out of her daze. "Ow…" Coraline surveyed the damage--a wide scrape stretched across her knee, bleeding a little. Knowing it could have been a lot worse, she looked over at Wybie, who was rubbing his shoulder with a wince. "Thanks, _Wybourne_. I don't know what's wrong with me today…"

He grinned sheepishly, blushing. "I-It's nothing. Hey, don't you think you should cover that or something?" he gestured to the cut.

Coraline arched a brow at him. "You think we've got band-aids? You know how my parents are about keeping up with things like groceries, let alone anything else."

Without thinking, Wybie reached out and snagged her wrist, checking the watch strapped to it. Coraline allowed him to hold her arm without a word, surprised; he turned even redder, but all he said was "You've got a little time before school starts. We'll stop at my place--Grandma is a safety-nut. We've got tons of bandages and stuff like that."

"Wybie, your Grandma **hates** me."

"U-um, of course she doesn't!" Realizing he was still clutching her hand, he let go as though he'd been burnt. "She just hasn't been well lately…" As if triggered by the thought, the odd itching sensation came over him again, and Wybie scratched at his skin with vigor.

Coraline stared, bemused. "What's up with you? Got fleas?" she jibed with an impish grin, feeling a little better in his company.

Wybie laughed and gave her a playful shove. "Yeah, right. Let's go."

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They walked up the road to his house, bike in tow, Wybie explaining that his Grandma didn't like to be disturbed by loud noises.

Coraline knew he wanted the old woman to stay asleep so she wouldn't know he'd brought her over.

The house was silent when they entered; the place seemed to have a pall over it, and Coraline felt goose bumps prickle all over her body. Wybie left her in the living room to find the first-aid kit, holding a finger to his lips urging her to keep quiet. Annoyed, she shooed him away, growling under her breath "You're more likely to make a racket than me, you blabbermouth!"

After several minutes of waiting boredom set in, and she looked for something to pass the time. Her eyes made their way around the rather cramped space, noting the striking lack of photographs: '_The way Wybie abuses that ancient camera of his, I'd thought this place would be filled with pictures. There's nothing but old furniture and even older books…_'

The mantle was bare, save a nondescript vase whose contents had dried up and died long ago. "Creepy," Coraline muttered, wrapping her arms around herself unconsciously.

Something warm and furry brushed against her calves, startling a squeak from her.

Wybie's cat gazed up with huge blue eyes, purring.

"Hi there. You shouldn't sneak up on me like that," she chided, crouching down to stroke the feline's tatty fur. Cat arched into her touch without comment; twisting his head, he nudged her fingers gently.

"I'm petting you, already. What more do you want?"

He remained mum, of course, but nosed her again insistently.

Sighing, Coraline made to withdraw her hand. "Whatever, I don't--"

Cat nipped her pinky, sharp teeth drawing twin pinpricks of blood. "Ouch! You crazy thing, what was that--?!"

"Just **what** do you think you're doing?"

Coraline froze, immediately breaking into a cold sweat. '_Crap…_'

Dorothea hobbled into the room, stooped and withered but still intimidating. "I asked you a question, girl. Answer!" she barked.

Wybie dashed in, stumbling over his own feet in his hurry. "G-Grandma! It's not her fault, I-I made her come in--she got hurt and I was just--"

A wrinkled brown hand sliced through the air, commanding silence. "I won't hear it. Leave, **now**. Wybourne, you are to come straight home after you drop her off, you understand me?"

The boy seemed to curl in on himself, shrinking away from her blistering rage. "Yes ma'am."

Helping Coraline up, Wybie all but dragged her out of the house, not stopping until they reached the end of the long driveway and the motorbike parked there.

The ride to school was rife with tension, Wybie's face hidden behind his heavy skull mask. Pulling up outside the front entrance, he wordlessly handed Coraline a crumpled pack of band-aids and took off without a backwards glance.

She watched him speed away, knee a dull pang compared to the ache in her chest.

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Unseen, the wallpaper in the Joneses' parlor cracked and peeled, exposing a tiny sliver of light.

_Poor child…I'm listening…_

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AN: Soon the really interesting stuff will begin...heh. I'm excited about this story and want to work on it as much as possible, whenever school/RL allow…Oh, to answer a couple questions you guys asked:

--Noname: Yes, because I don't think I can write anything that ISN'T at least a little romantic, haha!

--Snickering Idiot: Um, probably. I have at least one other idea for that series, although I'm trying to focus on this right now. Sorry I can't be more definitive… XD

Ask me questions if you have them, guys! If it's not too spoiler-ish, I'll (probably) answer!

--Also: Same naming problem with Grandma's twin--can't very well call her 'Sweet Ghost Girl,' so I thought Abigail was a nice choice.

Giant shout-out to all you lovely reviewers! You make me so happy!

Thanks and see you soon!

---258.


	3. Chapter 3

Threads of Fate Chapter 3

AN: Thanks so much for your support everyone! Let's do this.

Disclaimer: I don't own Coraline: talk to Neil Gaiman/Laika Studios.

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_The first thing Coraline noticed was the picture frame on the bedside table; the green mantis had come alive, playfully waggling its antennae at her as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The photograph it held was also in motion, and she couldn't help but giggle as the image of her two childhood friends from Michigan wrestled and romped, waving their arms and smiling. _

_Drowsy, she looked over toward the windows--it seemed to be the middle of the night, the moon large and full._

_Turning down the thick, soft blanket, Coraline slowly lowered her toes to the floor, bracing herself for the hardwood's chill--but a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers darted out from under the bed and intercepted, sliding themselves over her feet. Their shiny doll's eyes winked up at her, little pink noses twitching. Surprised, she stared for a moment before a humming sound drew her attention to the corner, where her battered old desk was kept. In its place was a beautiful oak shelving unit, drawers adorned with silver handles, supported by clawed feet at each end. Atop this sat a brand-new computer, screen glowing softly in the dim light. Jumping up, she dashed over and touched the monitor reverently, dumbfounded. "Where'd this come from…?" _

_The smell of bacon and eggs caught her up in its hold, and suddenly she was ravenous. Making her way down the stairs, Coraline hesitated in the doorway at the sight of someone hovering over the stove, singing cheerily as they flipped a golden-brown pancake in a skillet with a deft twist of their wrist. 'What...?' _

_Seeming to hear her thoughts, the stranger immediately spun around--and that's when Coraline began to feel uneasy. _

_Staring at her was a face she recognized…and yet, it was not at all familiar. _

_Bright red lips split into a gleaming grin, teeth so white they were near-blinding. _

_Black hair perfectly coiffed into a salon-worthy, stylish bob. _

_Clothing that seemed absurdly dressy for cooking, topped with a spotless, lacy apron. _

_Lidless black button eyes, fixed on her with unnerving intensity. _

"_Ah, hello dear! You're finally awake! Just in time for breakfast, too--your punctuality is just one of the many, many things I love about you." _

_Coraline stepped warily over the threshold, fists clenched at her sides. "Who…are you?" _

_The woman gasped, a milk-white hand flying to her throat in affront. "Why, don't you know your own mother?" _

_The not-quite-Mrs.-Jones snatched up a nearby plate and began piling it high with delicious-looking food, far more than any one person could eat, and set it down on the kitchen table with a blissful sigh. "There you are, honey. Come eat, I made all this just for you!" _

_The girl stared, stunned. "You can't be my mother. She hates cooking, and her hair is always crazy in the morning."_

_The imposter simply cocked her head, unfazed._

"_I don't think she even owns an outfit like that. And she doesn't have…" Here Coraline trailed off, pointing at her own eyes as they blinked in disbelief. _

_The woman twittered lightly, tapping her plastic eye with a manicured fingertip. "Buttons? Of course not, silly--only people who live here have them. I'm your Other Mother! Please, come and sit before your meal gets cold, won't you?" _

_Coraline felt like she was walking through molasses, time crawling by as she slowly reached the table and sat down carefully. Her stomach's rumbling threatened to overpower the alarm bells ringing in her head, and she felt herself reaching for the fork beside her plate without meaning to. _

_The Other Mother pulled out the chair beside her and perched on its edge, a little close for comfort, smile stretching so far across her too-pretty face the skin seemed liable to crack. "Go on, I know you're starving!" _

_Coraline's fork stopped inches from the sausage she'd been about to spear. "How do you __**know**__ that?" _

_The woman steepled her hands beneath her chin, voice a velvet croon. "I love you, silly--of course I know everything about you." _

_Coraline felt there was something off with that logic, but hunger won out. Digging in, she ate her fill of the scrumptious offering before finally relaxing back with a satisfied murmur, patting her distended belly appreciatively. _

_The Other Mother whisked away the remains, the clack-clack of her stiletto heels almost musical as she deposited the soiled dishes in the sink. Clapping her hands, she turned sharply. "Oh, I almost forgot--that scratch on your knee. You really should be more careful, sweetie," she scolded gently, crouching down and reaching for the hem of Coraline's pajama leg. _

_Coraline jerked back, startled. "What are you--?!" _

"_Now, now," the Other Mother shushed, "I'm going to make it all better. Love can heal anything…" She gripped the struggling girl's ankle with unexpected strength and rolled the pant leg up to the thigh, subtly sneering at the hastily applied bandages covering the injury before stripping them away. Licking her painted lips, she planted a little kiss on the wound, not seeming to mind the scab's bumpy surface. _

_Coraline felt her breakfast come dangerously close to re-occurring, skin crawling as cold lips pressed to her cut. 'Yuck, how could she…?!' _

_Feeling somehow violated, she yanked her pajama bottoms back to rights as the Other Mother withdrew, smiling. "There, that should help. Now I think you need a nap--you look a bit unwell, angel!" _

'_Yeah, who wouldn't, after that?' Coraline thought, avoiding the Other Mother's outstretched hand and standing on her own. "Uh-huh…" _

_The Other Mother escorted her to the stairs, stopping Coraline's ascent with a cool touch. "Would you like me to tuck you in? I'd be more than--" _

"_No thanks!" the girl blurted, eager to put some space between herself and the eerie doppelganger. "I'm, uh, totally fine by myself. Really." _

"_Alright. If you need anything, you know what to say!" _

_Curiosity piqued, Coraline glanced back. "What's that?" _

_The Other Mother grinned. "'I Wish…'" _

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The preteen lurched up, dragged from her slumber by a stab of pain. "Ye-_ow_! What--?"

Cat dodged her flailing limbs, tail lashing from side to side. Coraline frowned at him and cradled her injured finger--he had bitten her again, in the same spot as the day before. "Wybie's cat…? What are **you** doing here?"

Cat ignored her, pawing at the blankets draped over her legs.

Brushing him aside angrily, she stood--and shuddered as the cold from the floorboards seeped through the soles of her feet. '_Huh. What was I expecting…?_'

Remembering the cute slippers from her odd dream, the girl gasped. "That's right!" Sitting back on the bed, she tugged up her pajama pants, eyes widening as she pulled them higher and higher and no scrape was revealed. "It's gone…!"

Awed, she paid no mind to Cat, who darted out the open window and disappeared into the mist.

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Mornings in the Jones family household tended to follow a pattern of chaos; Coraline would take the kitchen apart looking for something edible, her father would make unhelpful suggestions ("How about salami and some leftover deviled eggs? Yum!"), and her mother would work on her laptop while nursing a large mug of black coffee and a perpetual headache.

Today was different.

Coraline wandered downstairs, mind in a fog, trying to make sense of the impossible dream. Her knee looked as though she'd never banged it up in the first place. And she wasn't the least bit hungry...

After all, she'd already had a rather large breakfast.

Her mother looked up from her computer screen long enough to notice the blood on her daughter's hand. "Oh, Coraline. What have you done to yourself **now**?"

Coraline stuck out her tongue at the back of her mother's head. '_Well, this one's definitely the real deal._'

Rinsing her pinky under warm water, she wondered why Wybie's cat suddenly seemed to dislike her so much. He'd been fine before…

Deciding on a cup of soothing English tea, a gift from Misses Forcible and Spink, she carried the steaming drink back up to her room and sipped at it while she dressed for the day. Recalling the pair's love of the occult, especially fortune-telling, Coraline finished all but the dregs and peered at the bottom of the cup.

On the left, a clump of tea leaves had congealed into a ball; on the right, they formed a brackish line that wound its way across the porcelain in a strand.

"Never had much faith in this sort of crap anyway," Coraline muttered, tromping back down the steps toward the front door.

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Dorothea watched from the shade of the porch as Wybie rode off on his motorbike, freezing despite being wrapped in the thickest bathrobe in all of Oregon. She felt sorry for driving off the girl he'd brought over yesterday so cruelly, but it had been for the best. '_Yes, best that no attachments are made. Besides, soon it won't matter…_'

Cat's low purring answered her unspoken musings. '_It's far too late for that._'

Dorothea rubbed along his curved spine, feeling older than ever. "Children these days, hmph. Doesn't that girl see that I'm trying to help her…?" Her eyes slid closed, mind drifting back to her youth. '_Don't make the same mistake we did…_'

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"_Abby, you've got it all wrong…again." _

_The girl in question threw up her hands, flour sprinkling her shoulders like snowflakes. "Who has time for this, anyway?! Standing around making pie crusts when it's nice out, for a change." Wiping her dusty fingers right on her dress, Abigail abandoned her deformed lump of dough in favor of strapping on her 'outside' shoes--oversized galoshes borrowed from their father, which she had nicknamed the "seven-league boots." _

_Dorothea continued to knead her own dough ball, dismayed. "I thought this might be something we could do together…"_

_Abigail glanced up, surprised. _

_Dorothea coughed and looked away. "A-anyway, you need as much practice as you can get. How are you going to cook for your family someday?"_

_The younger twin smirked. "Mama says it don't matter--I'm cute enough to get away with plain old anything." _

_Grimacing at her sister's horrible grammar, Dorothea considered this. 'Mama always did like her best…but I'll show her that I'm just as good. Charm isn't everything.' _

"_You know," she said aloud, annoyed, "we're twins. That means I am just as cute as you, any day." _

_But Abigail was already half way out the door, clomping along noisily. "Not-uh! You're the stuffy one, everybody says so!" Laughing, she snatched up her pail of gardening tools and took off full-tilt, stumbling occasionally over the enormous footwear. _

_Dorothea tried not to feel hurt. 'That's not true…' _

_************************************************************************_

_Mama had barely said a word all night; the slice of freshly-baked pie her eldest daughter had served with a proud, expectant smile had gone untouched and unacknowledged. She sat in the parlor, wringing a tattered handkerchief in her hands, listening to the radio. _

_The volume was too low to hear most of what was said, but Dorothea caught a few things: trouble all over, dangerous and powerful men, faraway places that menaced from across the ocean…_

_Impending war. _

_She discussed this one night with her sister, but Abigail hardly seemed worried. "That's a long ways off, if it's even going to happen at all. And we live in America--nothing bad happens here." _

_Dorothea knew this was far from true, felt it was her duty to open her sibling's eyes to the world around her. "Listen, that's a ridiculous thing to say." _

"_Is not," Abigail snorted, winding a length of pink yarn through her fingers in a game of cat's cradle. "Superman lives here. What could some Jerkin do against him?" _

"_German," Dorothea corrected, grudgingly grasping the string and tugging it to form the first set of shapes in the game, "and he's only a comic book character! Look, if America is so great, why's it so hard for us to live here? Remember why we had to move from our last house?" _

_Abigail immediately pulled away, letting the yarn drop soundlessly to the ground. "The neighbors there were dumb, is all. It's not like that everywhere--"_

"_Yes, it is. Don't you ever listen to the news? Hear the gossip that goes around? The things they say about families like ours…" _

"_You shut your mouth!" Abigail cried, startling the black kitten sleeping on their shared bed. "There's nothing wrong with us!" _

_Dorothea stood, eyes flashing. "We're different! America hates different, and it sure lets you know--why do you think Papa went off and joined the army?! Nobody else would give him work because of us--" _

_A quick slap shocked her into silence. _

_Abigail shivered, tears streaming down and dripping off her chin. "It's not like that everywhere. Not everyone thinks that way. It can't be…" _

_Dorothea rubbed her sore cheek, expression dark. "Life isn't a fairytale. We have to do our best to fit in, to survive. To be normal." _

_Abigail ran to the window and pressed her forehead to the glass. "I wish it __**was**__ a fairytale. I wish…"_

_************************************************************************_

_Mama had fallen asleep on the couch, her husband's kerchief clutched in her small, brown fist. _

_Behind the sofa, within the wall, something stirred. _

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- _

Dorothea dabbed her eyes and found them moist. She squinted through her glasses at the Pink Palace, looming on the horizon, and spat bitterly on the wooden floor. "Wishes **do** come true."

Cat silently agreed.

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"What took you so long, _Wybourne_?"

Said boy scratched the back of his head nervously, dislodging a few leaves in the process. "Eheh…sorry. I slept in pretty late."

Coraline frowned but left it at that, climbing aboard the motorbike. '_I wonder if he still feels weird about what happened at his house…I know I do. His Grandma is so mean…_'

But if he was upset, he didn't say as much.

The drive to school was filled with the usual one-sided chatter, Wybie talking about his latest achievements in his workshop or the newest freaky-looking bug Cat had left on his windowsill. Coraline only half heard, waiting for the awkward tone that would herald the apology she was waiting for.

He screeched to a halt in the junior high parking lot, supporting their collective weight with a foot braced on the asphalt. "Hey, Jonesy, listen…"

'_Here we go,' _she thought, crossing her arms and perking her ears.

Wybie itched at his tilted neck, mask up over his hair, eyes downcast. "T-there's something I've been m-meaning to say to you." He scrubbed harder at his skin, flushing.

Coraline waited a few moments before prompting him: "Yeah…?"

He gulped loudly, pushing his gloved palm against the side of his head and massaging it in tight circles, seemingly to ward off a headache. "Uh, you know what, I'll tell you later. Yep, definitely later," he croaked. Reaching up, he made to swing his mask back down, trying to hide.

Coraline glared and grabbed his arm to stop him; he flinched and turned decidedly pink, but said nothing. "Just tell me, loser. It's not like I don't feel the same way."

He whirled around on his seat and gaped at her. "Y-y-you do?!"

"Sure," she said breezily, flicking a stray lock of blue hair out of her face. "Your Grandma was totally bizarre yesterday. But I don't blame you or anything, so don't worry about it."

His face instantly fell, before a bemused expression swept over it. "Wait, my Grandma? Yesterday? What do you mean?"

Coraline gawked at him. "She totally freaked out. Don't you remember?"

Wybie seemed distracted, unable to meet her eyes. "Well, she does that a lot. I really should get going…"

She hopped off the bike, suddenly apprehensive. "Okay…we're still going out sometime, though, right? We didn't get to yesterday…"

His head shot up again. "G-going out?"

"Yes, exploring! **You** suggested it…duh," she growled, the strange nausea swirling through her again. Trying to laugh it off, she socked his arm harder than necessary. "Forgetful much?"

He was barely listening, obviously embarrassed and dying to get away. "Haha, sure, alright…later."

Coraline gave him a brisk, military-style salute and ran off toward the cinderblock building.

Wybie watched her go, heart feeling as though it were being abraded by sandpaper with every beat. '_What did I think was gonna happen? How stupid…_'

The constant, low-level pounding in his head made itself known; he bit his lip, wincing. "Ouch…"

The besotted boy rode home alone, hurting in more ways than one.

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"April? I can't find my spectacles. Have you seen them?"

Miriam Forcible puttered around the basement apartment, feeling about in vain for her glasses. "April, really, give me a hand. I can't see a blasted thing, and Hamish got into the fruitcake again...terrible, terrible mess in the pantry."

But her pink-haired, portly counterpart didn't respond.

Blinded, Miriam tripped over the edge of the divan and staggered, knocking into the wall. A clattering noise told her that she'd tucked the lenses within her ample cleavage and forgotten about them again, and now they'd fallen to the floor.

"Ah, there we have it. April, you always were nearer to the ground--be a dear and come get them for me, won't you?"

A full minute of silence passed, and finally Miriam bent to retrieve them herself, joints creaking. "Now I've got you, pesky things!" Straightening up, she unfolded the spectacles and looked through them, seeking her flat-mate. "April, honestly, where have you--?"

April Spink was lying slumped over on the couch, motionless.

Miriam drew up to her full height with a gasp. "April?!" Rushing over as fast as she could, the old woman sat next to her best friend and rival, fussing.

The shorter woman was breathing slowly, relaxed, as though she were in a deep sleep.

Her little finger was rubbed raw.

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AN: This is possibly the longest I've gone between updates! Sorry.

I was writer's blocking hardcore, so I wrote an 11pg. one-shot to help myself work through it--and ended up hating it. So it'll never be posted, sadly :P The good news is it cleared up the block and I was finally able to get this chapter out!

Okay, reviewer Q&A time:

Cohen's Chicas: Yup, I wanted Grandma to be pretty old--she's supposed to be 13 in 1940, and 82 in the present (2009).

Siient Forces: Well, I'm a night owl--usually I'm up til around 5-6am, and then I sleep all day (maybe it's more like a vampire... XD ). So I get my rest, no worries!

Lexi: She's got her reasons…muhaha.

Quick note about the setting: I'm trying to keep things as not-confusing as possible, so let me know if I'm failing/succeeding, lol. It's my own fault for making a story that takes place in the past, present, alternate dimensions…sigh.

Also, Abigail--her nickname is spelled 'Abby,' simply because alternate forms like 'Abi' or 'Abbie' irritate me (if your name is Abigail and that's how you spell your nickname, no offense!)

Another thing--World War II & racism were issues during Dorothea's childhood, but I'm not going to go into too much detail about them beyond what's needed. I will say that Hitler was a monster but Germans as a whole are a wonderful people/culture, and racism is horrendous. The End.

Things are only going to get weirder from here on out…

Shout out to you wonderful reviewers! I love you all! :D

Thanks for reading and see you soon!

---258.


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